


The life of a witch

by Robin11



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29161305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin11/pseuds/Robin11
Summary: A witch is not a female wizard. A wizard is not a male witch. The two are separate, intertwining, but the Wizarding World is not kind to witches. Watch how the lives of different women are affected by witches in some way or another, how the patriarchal Wizarding World ruins them all, and allows for the oppression of witches, and their deaths.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Kudos: 2





	The life of a witch

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely people,
> 
> This is just something I thought I'd try out. Also, I know I'm writing at one point from Hermione's perspective but that does not mean I agree with her. At all. At all at all. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

Panting, she shoved the door open with one foot, clutching the bundle tightly to her chest as she did so. Tears clouded her eyes as she scanned the streets: empty. Pressing it even closer, she squeezed through the door and quickly assessing the height, vaulted herself over the gate, losing a slipper as she did so. Lamplight spilled onto the street in front of her and hissing, she reared back. That was when she heard him,  
'Narcissa?'   
The shawl wrapped around her face flew open in the wind, as if responding to his call. He was just able to catch a flash of her eyes before she wrapped it firmly around her again. Never again would he see what he'd done to her, never again.   
'Narcissa!' he came closer as she moved further away, her soles crunching in the gravel as she turned her body to protect the bundle.   
'Narcissa.' his voice was soft now, gentle. Her panic rose, back she moved, back back back, anything to be away from him, from this life. Her heel dipped, and she gasped, realising where she was. Eyes flitting to the edge for a second, she noted the danger-but it was one second too many.   
'Narcissa,' his voice was drenched in pain. Pain that rushed through her entire body, pain that steeled her nerves, and tempered what had been soft before. Never again. With one arm, she pulled down the bundle's scarf, and kissed the smooth head of her stillborn child. No. Not stillborn; her murdered baby. Then, leaning forward she pressed it into his arms. Just as he reached forward to hold her as well she turned, shawl flying open, face turned away from him, hair twisting wildly in the wind as she spread her arms, and fell.  
'NARCISSA.' The wail clawed its way out of his throat, reaching for the witch who was plummeting to her death. But it was too late. The earth caught her body gently, murmuring a promise as they reclaimed what had always been theirs, 'Never again.' 

Narcissa was not the only witch who fell that year, or the years to come. Not the only woman to be tempted to go to the other side, only to fall as a victim of the Wizarding World, only to be branded like cattle, sexualised, fetishised, objectified, broken, killed. So many witches perished, that the papers stopped reporting it, falling bored of the continued horrors as only those desensitised towards violence can do. The witches were written off as mystical, exotic beings who just weren't accustomed to life in the Wizarding World. A rumour even started circling that witches were not supposed to live to the age of 30, but were destined to take their own lives. It was part of their religion, some kind of savage rite that civilisation could never understand. Eyes were rolled, their babies kept and tried to integrate into society, new witches accepted, life moved on, and on, and on. There was a new wizard to worship, a new conflict to deal with. And Harry Potter was at the forefront of everyone's minds. 

Alicia Spinnet had only been a young girl when she had been taken from the witches. Her father had been some or other wizard who had insisted on his daughter being raised in the Wizarding World. And when her mother refused, he had snuck into her house, and taken her anyway. She had never mourned the loss however, loved her family, had forgotten the years of screaming and crying and pain after she had been taken. It was like all the memories of the past had been hidden, whisked away like a lover in the night, and now she was attending Hogwarts, where the Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore resided. She never understood the witches, didn't know why they seemed to suffer so in their world. But it wasn't an issue on which she dwelled, she didn't like being linked to the witches, those mournful eyes and shrouds that always seemed to cover their youthful, beautiful faces. She consoled herself with the fact that she was not a proper witch, that the dying before thirty was nonsense anyway, and definitely did not apply to her.   
Glancing in the mirror, she tightened her ponytail before picking up her broom. It was a simple training day, there was no need to be so nervous. It was just...having the Durmstrang and the Beauxbatons Academy there, it was daunting to say the least. But still, her parents hadn't taught her to be shy, or nervous. She was a strong woman, played sports. She was exactly what a wizard should be, what a woman should be. It almost took away from her being half witch. Almost. Striding out onto the pitch, she smiled at Katie and Angelina, who were both stretching.   
'You ready to show these Durmstrang boys what we got?' Alicia laughed at the determined look in Angelina's eyes.   
'Krum's got nothing on us,' she crowed, allowing for their excitement to diffuse over her in a giddy spell.   
'Girls, we ready to start?' Rolling her eyes at Oliver's impatient tone, Alicia strode over to where the rest of the team were standing. Fred winked at her as she arrived.  
'Right, so obviously, we have a star player among us. A champion.' Raising her eyes, Alicia scanned the stands until she found him: Viktor Krum, his eyes narrowed as he scrutinised them carefully, his eyes widening upon seeing her. A curious expression rose the corner of his mouth. She wasn't sure how she liked it. Shivering slightly, she tuned back in to what Wood was saying,   
'Katie and Alicia, I want you to go left as Angelina goes right-ok?' Pretending to know what he was talking about, Alicia nodded resolutely.   
'Of course.' Pushing up his glasses, Harry asked,  
'What if I tried going behind them instead?' Oliver scanned his diagram of the pitch again,   
'Hmm,' No one interrupted him as he thought, although she did swap a look with Angelina, the trainings all seemed to go the same. Wood chewed his lips for a few moments, apparently lost in thought as Fred and George got bored, and started poking each other with their brooms. Boys. Raising her eyes, she was relieved to see that Krum had stopped looking at her, and had moved his gaze to Harry now. She supposed he would, Harry would be his competition. She felt a stab of envy at that, but it was the truth that Potter was better than her. It was only slightly irritating that he'd never even been on a broom until his eleventh, and she, who had been working her entire life to get to this point, hadn't even made the team until her third year. But it was fine. She had to work in her own league. Stay in your lane Spinnet, don't compare your success by that of others. She knew right from wrong. Witch from Wizard. Biting her lip, she pulled her sleeve a little over her mark. Her friends never understood her insecurity about it, but she supposed they wouldn't. Katie and Angelina were both fully wizards. They didn't realise how lucky they were. They were never plagued by the reproachful looks witches seemed to give her, as if asking her why she didn't run to the nearest mountain and hurl herself from it as well. Them and they religion, their strange practices and customs and clothes. Everything about them was different, and absolutely ridiculous. Who would kill themselves for a religion? Who would not allow themselves to integrate into a society merely because their religion was different?   
'You know what, you're right. Go behind.' The parchment was rolled up with a snap, and Oliver motioned for them all to get into the air.   
Kicking off, Alicia allowed herself a few warm up laps before rolling out the tension in her shoulders. All witch-related dilemmas forgotten, she revelled in the feel of the wind on her skin, in her hair. A bludger whisked past her and eyebrows lifted in shock, she turned to see the sheepish grin of George,   
'Sorry! Lousy aim.' Giving him a look, she dove back down, and held her hands out for the quaffle that Wood had in his arms. He lobbed it in the air at her, and she was about to catch it when Krum shot up in the stands and pointed a shaking finger at her, 'WITCH.' 

The arena fell silent. All eyes turned to stare, 'I'm sorry?' Wood asked, clearly confused. Krum's finger never retracted as he leapt down the stands.   
'Witch.' Reaching the grass, he strode towards her, his eyes flashing. 'You have a witch on your team.' Feeling suddenly cold, Alicia tugged her sleeve even further over her arm. 'She's not a witch, not a proper one anyway.' Angelina said, dismounting her broom. 'Besides, what's your problem?' Krum snorted,   
'Witches bring bad luck.'  
'That's superstition.' She didn't know why she was letting everyone talk for her, only that in that moment, she was so shocked that her heart shuddered in her chest, and all she could do was watch. 'It's not. It's the truth. They carry sadness, it's stitched into their skin. And where they go, the sadness follows, until it becomes too much and they die.'   
'What a load of rubbish,' Angelina threw an arm around her, 'Sod off Krum.'  
'Yeah.' Katie came to stand next to her, mirroring Angelina, 'Sod off.' Shrugging it off, Krum finally dropped his finger and turned to walk away.  
'Have it your way, keep her here, it won't be for that long anyway.' She finally found her voice,  
'Why do you hate witches?' His eyebrows reached his hairline, and when he spoke he sounded so frank it cut right through her.  
'I don't. I just know the truth.' No matter how many people consoled her after that, no matter how many people denounced him, and ridiculed his words and ideas, putting it down to Durmstrang logic, which was questionable anyway, being Grindelwald's haunt; they found Alicia Spinnet later that night, in front of the fireplace, angry welts and gaping holes covering her wrist and face, from where she had tried to burn the witch off of her. 

Hermione Granger had never met a witch. She didn't need to, was satisfied with herself and her position in the Wizarding World without having to worry about anything like that. She was a good wizard, and had fought hard to be seen as one. She'd been dismissed as bossy, a know-it-all, a girl no one could ever date or like. It was daunting, hearing those things about yourself. It was difficult, living with yourself when you knew that's what people thought. So when Lavender Brown had started sniffing around Ron Weasley, the only boy that she'd ever really felt seen by, she didn't like it. There was something off about Lavender, the way she moved, looked, even smelled. It was like this cloying scent that wormed its way into your nose, your brain. And there she was, with her body wrapped around Ron's, no doubt enjoying the way he felt. Disgusting. Rolling her eyes, she forced them back to the book she was reading, until it became too much. Snapping it shut, she tossed it to the floor and made her way over to the armchair in the back. 'Excuse me?' They didn't respond, huffing in annoyance she tried again,   
'Excuse me.' and when that didn't work. 'OI.' Lavender and Ron shot apart. Blushing a little, Lavender said,   
'Oh, hi Hermione. What's the matter?' How she wanted to smack her in her little face. Her delicate features and gentle voice. It didn't fool her one bit. Lavender was a cunning bitch who was trying to get ahead, just like the rest of them. But in doing so, she had stepped on Hermione, and that she couldn't allow. 'Oh, it's just that I promised Ron I'd go over his essay with him, and it's getting rather late so I'd like to go to bed,' she responded, twisting her voice into the sweet little tone that Lavender always used. Sitting up straighter and brushing back her flyaways, Lavender nodded, 'Of course. I'll see you later Ron. I need to go to the toilet anyway,' she giggled, and waving at them both, disappeared. 'Thanks for that,' Ron breathed, smoothing his shirt, 'She's been getting so clingy.' A vindictive little spark burst near her heart, so he was just as annoyed by Lavender as she was. 'No problem.' The smirk, she was trying to hide, but it was difficult. Happily settling next to him, she corrected his essay out loud for him for about half an hour, before he took out some cards and convinced her to play exploding snap instead, as the essay was so boring. Warmth spread through her fingertips at that thought that he wanted to spend time with her, even if it was just as a friend. Maybe some day, it would be more. Maybe. 'She's actually the worst you know.' Hermione started, hoping he hadn't noticed her stare. 'Who?' She knew who. It was always the one person he talked about.   
'Lavender. I mean, how annoying can someone be? Like, just 'cause she's my girlfriend doesn't mean I want to spend all my time with her. It's so stifling.' If Hermione felt a twinge of guilt at the way she was endorsing someone talking about their girlfriend like that, she didn't acknowledge it, and only nodded with a soft smile. 'I swear, I'm breaking up with her.' She tried to ignore the way the words sent a thrill down her spine, but she couldn't. She was in love with Ron Weasley, and was sure he cared for her as well. Why should she worry about someone like Lavender, who'd known him for a lot less time than she had? Just as she was about to place down another card Crabbe sauntered past, sneering at the pair in the library. 'Playing cards with the nerd, Weasley? I suppose you can't really do better, can you?' Ron got up to say something to him but Hermione stayed his hand, heart numb. 'There's no point Ron,' she said softly, 'Leave it be.' Protesting, Ron stammered that he couldn't just go around saying things like that but she shook her head. Sometimes one had to pick their battles. But the fire of injustice raged in her heart, burning brighter with every word that trickled from a boy's lips, reminding her that she would never belong. 

Stomping into her dormitory bathroom, Hermione took a second to breathe, wipe the tears from her eyes. Be strong Hermione, be strong. But then, out of the corner of her eye she saw Lavender, and her gut lurched. Lavender had Ron's love, Lavender was seen as sweet and kind. Lavender was pretty. Lavender was...chanting something. Inching closer to the door, she saw Lavender at the window, palm clasped on her wrist. Straining her ears, she managed to hear the whisper of 'Goddess.' And it all made sense. It was a strange feeling, sudden power. It rushed through you deliciously until you were blind with glee. She almost laughed out loud, despite the lack of humour in her situation. Lavender was not luckier after all, Lavender was even less fortunate than she was. Crabbe's sneer invaded her ears again, the words ringing harsher than before. Curling her lip, she stepped forward. 'Witch.' Gasping, Lavender whipped around, her eyes wide and fearful.   
'Please, please don't.' But the damage was done, a gift had been dropped in Hermione's lap, and she'd be a fool not to use it, not to allow herself to get ahead. Sometimes people were stepping stones, someone had to pave the way if others were to walk. 'Ugly, dirty, actively practicing witch.' If Hermione had to crucify another girl in order to look like less of a threat, she would. It was far too difficult being Hermione, she'd take every opportunity that was given to her to lighten that burden. 'Wait until everyone finds out.' 

Helena Ravenclaw had loved a witch, and had died for her troubles. Sick of her mother harping on about the danger of witches, and their cunning, wretched, disgusting ways, she'd stolen the diadem, stolen money, and stolen to the land of the witches. She'd wanted to learn about them, gather more knowledge than her mother could ever have, but what she'd come to find was beyond any expectation she could have had. It wasn't like what it had been fabled to look like, and neither was she. Nasrin. She was the kind of woman people wrote poems about, and embarrassingly enough, Helena did write poems about her. Hideous, clumsy poems that Nasrin loved all the same, and kept close to her heart. She'd been all but willing to integrate into the society of the witches, had learned about their religion and day by day started to believe in it more. For who could have brought her to this place but the Goddess? Who could have taught her to love the moon and to free herself from the Wizarding society, to let her determine her own worth, her own beauty, her own goals in life? It was there that she learned to let go of the resentment she had for her family, where she learned how much more magic could be than just a stick. It was there that she learned to love fully and totally, where she wanted to stay at Nasrin's side, forever and ever and ever. Curled up by her side at night, Nasrin had whispered to her, 'Our religion isn't perfect, I know that as well as the next. But it is beautiful, and it is us. And if you come with an open mind, we can find a common ground between our regions.' Smiling, Helena had taken her face between her hands,   
'Our love is my religion, darling. I don't need it to be perfect, there is no such thing as a perfect religion, I just need one that is good.' Letting out a dazzling smile, Nasrin had put her chin on her hands and asked her, 'Why do you never tell me about your home? I would so love to know.' Grimacing, Helena had shaken her head,  
'I'm never going back. My world doesn't like me.' Nasrin had frowned,   
'But you're a wizard, what is their problem with you?'  
'It's not enough that I'm a wizard, I'm still a woman.' Nasrin had fallen silent at that, and curled one of Helena's locks around and around her finger, as easily as she had twined Helena's heart with hers. 'I haven't heard much about them, but from what you say I'm glad you have come here.' Smiling widely, Helena leaned in to kiss her.   
'I am too.' That was the last night of her life. 

The next morning, Helena awoke to whispers and stares, and a terrified Nasrin. 'They're looking for you, Rowena Ravenclaw is dying.' Her heart constricted as Nasrin caught her hand. 'Nel? Helena?' Grabbing onto her, Helena turned with tears in her eyes.   
'I have to go back, I have to say goodbye.' Meeting her eyes, Nasrin nodded gently,   
'Take the diadem.' Her eyes bulged,   
'You have got to be kidding.' Nasrin shook her head adamantly,   
'Take it. So you will always find your way back to me.' Helena raised an eyebrow and Nasrin gave a feeble attempt at humour,   
'The wisdom it grants the bearer will remind you to never leave me. So you'll always come back.'   
'What?'  
'Take it. It's yours.'  
'You're not coming with me?' Nasrin shook her head, lowering her voice,   
'There's trouble brewing here. They were fine with you, but as more and more people try to cross into our lands they're getting apprehensive. Our kind doesn't take too kindly to wizard men. I have to stay, and make sure they will let you back in.' Alarm filled her at this,   
'What's happened?' Nasrin dropped her voice so much that Helena had to strain to hear.   
'Our Queen's son brought back a lover, but he's arrogant, and vain. The tension is trickling down, like it always does.'   
'I guess we cannot escape from humanity anywhere we go.'  
'No.' Nasrin's voice was oddly sad, 'It seems we cannot.'

Stepping into her world again, Helena found herself in the forest of Albania, where someone was waiting for her. The Baron. Wonderful. 'What are you doing here?'   
'You have to come back to Hogwarts. I've been instructed to collect you.' Irritated at having to be fetched like an animal, Helena snapped,   
'I know that. I'm planning on reaching there tonight.' His face relaxed into a smile,   
'Wonderful, we've missed you...I've missed you.' he moved closer to her and alarmed, she stepped back.   
'I won't be back for long,' Nasrin's dark eyes flashed in her mind, 'I have to go home soon.' His face fell,   
'Your home is here.'  
'No.' she shook her head. 'Not anymore.' The Baron's eyebrows creased,   
'So the rumours are true? You've been living with...the witches?' Helena rolled her eyes,   
'It's hardly any of your business now, is it?'  
'The witches are heathens,' he snapped, flushing with the temper that had revolted him to her many years ago, 'The only good witch is a dead witch. You know that. That's why we have the witch hunters.'   
'Don't speak of things you don't understand,' she seethed, hating his ignorance. 'You may have graduated, but you're just as slow as ever.' The anger was getting more animalistic, lighting a fire in his blue eyes. 'Don't talk to me that way.' Lifting her chin, she sauntered over to him,   
'Or. What.' With a snarl, he held out a hand to smack her, and ducking, she shot a spell in his direction. Cursing, he managed to dodge it but had given her time to run, and run she did. Quickly concealing the diadem in a tree, where she'd come back for it later, she tugged some grass out by the roots and started mumbling a portkey. She had promised to go, and go she would. However, the time she took to make the stupid thing slowed her down, and soon enough the Baron had a hold of her arm. 'Let go of me,' she spat, twisting this way and that. 'You've learned some wretched manners at that place. But don't worry. It's why she wants you back. She'll re-civilise you.' A cold feeling of dread washed over Helena. Rowena Ravenclaw was clever, celebrated for it. If the Baron was letting something loose like this it meant...it meant that she had no doubt set up a trap, making sure that she would need to stay. After all, there was nothing more important to Rowena than Hogwarts, and its reputation. If she thought she was going to play the part, leave her Nasrin then she was mistaken. 'I will never go back,' she hissed, spitting in his face. He smacked her, hard. Face stinging, hatred pulsing through her she did the only thing she could think of to hurt him, 'I'm happy there. I'm in love. When I get back we will be married, tied together forever. Why would I go back with you when I have her?' Because she had felt her heart break, she recognised it when it came over his face, and for a moment she felt sorry for what she had done. She supposed she should have worn the diadem, used its wisdom because she was in desperate need of some. But what she didn't expect, despite all her cleverness, despite knowing the Baron her entire life, was that he would wrench the knife from his belt, and stab her not once, not thrice, but five times, until she bled out on the forest floor, too shocked to even remember to think of Nasrin, too late to even whisper a goodbye. The Baron then, overcome by what he had done, turned the knife on himself, and fell to the floor beside her, eyes still wide in disbelief. 

Before she'd died, Narcissa had written a letter. Folding it neatly, pressing her lips against the seal, she'd stuck it in the shawl of her murdered baby, hoping to give it to Andromeda, the only sister who hadn't moved into the Wizarding World. Perhaps it could be spread, or perhaps only she would ever read it. As long as it saved one person, that would be enough. She hadn't been expecting to die that night, hadn't been expecting to hand Lucius the baby, she had just wanted him to see, for one last time, what he'd done. For him to realise the brutality of his actions, of his way of life. And there was a small part of her that loved the baby too much to crush it by letting it fall with her. She couldn't do that to her tiny, sweet face. So it was Lucius who found the letter, Lucius who tore it open after placing the dead baby in its crib, Lucius who read it.

Dear World, 

They tell you in our world about the Wizarding world and its wonders. They speak about the buildings they create, the dragons they tame and the way they tempered magic with wands. It is beautiful in its power, in its people. I thought so too, when I first moved to the Wizarding World, naive and innocent, thinking I was going to learn so much about the world, broaden my horizons. I never knew how they saw witches there, how they forced us to become like their women. I never knew that the Wizarding World takes everything that has its own, unique beauty, and lets it die. I won't go into details, I don't have enough time, goodness knows there's never enough time. But I have time for a warning. They hate witches, they call them beautiful and enchanting but they see us as vile seductresses, as other, as something that must change to fit in. They mock our religion, make a joke out of our deaths, for that is what we do here. We die. Once we get here, we cannot go back, some out of shame, most out of being imprisoned. Their men first come to us with sweet words and woo us, as I was wooed. Once I was pregnant he forced marriage with me, said it was the right thing to do, the respectable decision. So I married the beast. And he never let me go. I could never return home, as many women here never return home. We marry for love, for money, for security-as they will not allow witches to work in their world. It is not explicitly mentioned, but I have never seen a witch in any position of power here, only sometimes will I catch a glimpse of one serving me tea in a cafe, or crafting robes in a shop. And then, once we are isolated, we undergo the operation. I almost cannot write it, out of disgust, out of shame. But I must. I had assumed a human form for my time here, as most are wont to do. But it wasn't enough for him. Once we were married, he took me to a hospital, and there they stuck something in my arm which made me sleep. When I awoke, they held up a mirror, and arrogantly showed me what they had done. I wanted to spit in all of their faces. The form I had been given by nature, was made a mockery of. My breasts were enhanced, my hips enlarged and my waist narrowed. My feet were smaller, so that walking for the first few days was excruciatingly painful, my nose was smaller, my cheekbones higher, my lips plumper, my eyes larger, my eyelashes longer, my hair longer, and blond, my eyebrows curved, my ears pulled back, my skin cleaned of every scar or freckle that had shown my journey. They often do this to their women, as soon as they hit eighteen. They call it the 're-imagining'. They say it helps women to accept themselves because everyone is beautiful that way. But they lie, I know why they did it. They made me hairless as well, stripped my vagina, my legs, my armpits, my arms, every part of me. I know why they did it because I caught my husband one night, wanking off to a video of someone making love. They did it for them, for their pleasure, for their image of the female beauty. I was permanently altered, made to be their image of a sexual woman because otherwise I wasn't good enough. They make us their sexual playthings, and then force us to be mothers. The children we have with them are spit on in the street, are made fun of at school- if they even live. My little girl was born looking like the human form I had, like a witch. She had not one mark of a half-witch, but both.

They killed her. 

I will not stay. I will not succumb, will not submit, even death is better than this. I know now why all the witches who come here choose to die. We think they never come back because they love it there but we are wrong. They never come back because they cannot. But I will, I promise you that much. I will come back. I will save future witches from this terrible fate. I will not submit to the wizards who have beaten me down and changed my appearance into something so despicable it makes me want to sit down and weep. Never again will I let this happen to another witch. Never again. 

With a curl of his lip Lucius finished reading, and with one last glance at the baby, its lifeless body rocking in its cradle, he threw it onto the fire, and watched the embers of her final words dissipate into the air. Never again would he marry a witch. Never again would he allow a woman to carve out his heart like that. Never again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, you made it! I'd love to know what you thought, so please feel free to comment, even if you didn't like it, in that case please tell me what you thought was not good. On the other hand, you can shower me with praises too, OBVIOUSLY I have no preference, whatever feels right ;)
> 
> In all seriousness, have a lovely day!


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